Ressel
by 1angelette
Summary: FFTA, novelized, with all of the plot, good writing, and fleshed out characters the game didn't have. Clan Ressel will Restore Life As We Know It, and they'll do a lot of Falling In Love along the way... Today: Alldialogue! More Marche x Ritz! Hazel! R&R!
1. Snow, or How it began

**(A/N: Welcome one, welcome all, to my first FFTA story. I have some fair warnings for you:**

**#1: Yes, much of the things that happen in the plot are either twisted versions of the story missions, or are weird things that happened to me/I did while playing FFTA. (Yes, the "I can't feel my legs!" joke really happened to me. ALL THREE TIMES. **)

**#2: I am a romantic of the hopeless variety. Deal with it. You literally wouldn't be reading this if I hadn't been playing FFTA one day, noticed that two of my characters were standing next to each other, and said, "Gee, maybe they'd make a great couple!". No, seriously. You wouldn't.**

**#3: Marche's in-game personality has been cradled tenderly and thrown out the window. Ritz is also going to be a tiny bit off. Yes, I know this is probably going to offend…. Pretty much everybody that will be offended by #4. Which is a lot of people.**

**#4: The most important warning that you should actually keep in mind: If you have written anything FFTA related, and I have given positive feedback to it, chances are high that your stories might have inspired certain aspects of this story. To all of you guys out there… I'm sorry. I swear that if you ever find something that looks like you inspired it, and I haven't given you credit at some point….**

**Now, without further ado, I present to you….)**

_Ressel _

_A Novel_

-

Chapter One: Snow

Marche woke up with his head inside of a snowdrift.

"Ow…" he mumbled, his voice muffled. What had just happened to him? Where was the school? Ritz? Mewt? All of the other kids? _Try to remember something_, he thought. _It always works in the movies!_

Right. Well, there was the snowball fight. And then Mewt had gone into the corner and opened this book. And then this really creepy white light came out of it… He'd grabbed Ritz's hand and the two had run for their lives, but the light claimed them…

And now his head was in a snowdrift. Upon remembering this, he slowly stood up, taking his head out of the snow, and looked around. New Question: Where had the snowdrift gone? It was too warm for snow in this place…

But what _was_ this place? Well… it looked like a town square; after all, the place was a large paved area with several small stalls along the edges, in front of little buildings that were probably stores or houses. The only non-square-like thing about it was the lack of townspeople. Marche couldn't see another soul. Great. That was another question: Where were the townspeople?

Of course, this question quietly floated out the window once the girl walked into the square.

She was wearing a yellow cloak over a tight yellow tube dress with a yellow sash that had eleven pockets, and yellow boots. All of this yellow clashed wonderfully with her chocolate skin, lilac hair, and intelligent green eyes. In her hand was a wooden bow, simple and unadorned. Marche took five steps (large ones, too) toward her before he even noticed her only unusual feature- a pair of ears that looked remotely like antlers, they were so big. Even comparing them to those of an elf would be inaccurate. (Everybody knows that the ears of elves look much like the human ear besides that the earlobes are elongated to be pointy.) The girl's ears were probably the size of the human hand, and nowhere near as delicate as the elven ears previously described.

"You... have big ears!" Marche exclaimed in surprise. The girl stared at him like he had grown a second head, and slowly walked closer to him.

"...Duh. Haven't you ever seen a Vierra before?"

"Vi-eh-what?" The Vierra hung her head.

"Good Exodus..." She mumbled to herself, before straightening back up and looking Marche in the eye.

"It's not vi-eh-what. It's vee-AIR-uh. For future reference, Vierras are the ones like me with the big ears." Marche nodded solemnly.

"VEE-air-what." The Vierra slapped her forehead. "Close... enough..."She managed through gritted teeth. "Oh, and I'm Cecile." She took her hand off her forehead and held it out for him to shake.

"Marche." He shook Cecile's hand.

It was at this time that a... thing walked out of one of the houses, holding a long piece of cloth, and began to hang it from the sill of one window on the house to the other. "Thing" is probably the most accurate term that can be used. It was about seven feet tall, and looked as if a cosplayer was dressing up as a half-lizard superhero and then had had a horrible accident involving a bucket of orange paint and most of his costume being stolen, resulting in his being forced to wear a red robe that he borrowed from a priest. Marche pointed at it.

"Look! It's an orange lizar-"Cecile quickly put her hand over his mouth, and whispered quietly:

"That 'thing' is a bangaa. Under _no circumstances_ do you ever, ever, _ever_ call them lizards. Or orange." But it was too late; the thing that was now known to be a bangaa had already heard them, and turned around.

"Say that again..."It hissed, quite menacingly. "Um..." Marche looked confused. "But..."

"I think you called me a lizard. And I don't apprecccccciate that!" The bangaa stepped toward the pair, and another one (him in bronze armor and with a sword at his side) stepped out of the door and stood beside it.

"Holy crap..."Cecile muttered under her breath, before reaching slowly into a pocket of her sash and pulling out one shiny glass sphere. "I declare an engagement..."The sphere started to expand, and change shape, until it was a full-sized human, although you wouldn't know it, because of his shining armor. The judge (for that is what he was, and explaining everything is painfully dull) ran off to the other side of the square and blew a whistle. "Random White Monk and random Warrior versus Cecile the Archer and… What's your name, kid?"

"Um... Marche!" He yelled at the judge.

"Okay!" The judge replied. "And Marche the Soldier! Get ready..."Slowly, the two bangaa took several steps forward. Then the one in the red robe stepped to the left, while the one in the armor did the same to the right. Cecile stepped back, and dragged Marche with her. "GO!"

Cecile got the first move. She walked to a few feet in front of where she and Marche had been before (which was still several feet from the bangaa) and stood as still as... anything. After several moments, an hourglass filled with blue sand appeared in thin air, and slowly fell onto Cecile's head.

"Wha..." Marche muttered. Where had that hourglass come from? But he did not have long to ponder this, for then the bangaa he had initially called a lizard walked, and walked, and walked, and walked... (God! He walked so much farther than Cecile had.) Finally, he was about a yard away from Marche, when he punched the ground and yelled, "AIR RENDER!" A hard burst of wind came from the monk's fist and hit Marche squarely in the chest. Marche took a step back.

"Oww..." After this, there was a long period where nobody moved. Cecile noticed this.

"It's... your... turn... Marche!" She gasped, speaking so slowly because she was balancing the hourglass, remember.

"Oh!" Marche, even though he appeared to recognize that, yes, it was his turn, continued to just stand there. "Wait... I know I'm supposed to do something..."Suddenly, his leg felt heavy. "Huh?" He looked at his pants, and for reasons that nobody will ever understand, a sheath was attached to his belt, and in it was a short sword. Slowly, his hand wandered to the sword's hilt, and he took it out, holding it in both hands as if he had just taken it out of a stone.

"Come... on..."Cecile moaned. As if in a trance, Marche stepped forward and thrust the sword at the monk. The sword stopped as soon as the point hit the bangaa's nose. But because Marche is an Epic Hero, and because Fate decided to be nice to him because this was only the first chapter, the monk was suddenly on his knees, gripping his left arm, which had a gigantic gash that Marche's sword must have caused somehow... The warrior began running toward the monk, holding a potion.

"Oh, for the love of Exodus!" Cecile snapped. She stood in a typical archer position and shot an arrow aimed at the monk. With this motion, the hourglass fell off of her head and onto the arrow as it flew off the bow... and another arrow was behind it. As the two arrows hit, the monk fainted. The judge ran up and blew his whistle.

"Engagement over! Victory goes to Marche and Cecile!" He handed a shiny glass sphere to each of them, like the one that Cecile had summoned the judge with, and then disappeared. Marche looked at Cecile.

"How did I _do_ that? I'm just a ten-year-old elementary schoolchild! How could I lift a sword that was probably half my weight?" Cecile looked at him and blinked.

"I don't understand most of what you just said, but ten years old? No way." It was at this time that Marche realized that, although Cecile looked like she was at least the same age as Doned's babysitter, he was only an inch shorter than her. And, on further examination, he was able to lift the sword because he had mysteriously grown muscles. (You're welcome, Marche.)

"I'm... a teenager..." He whispered loudly, sounding awed.

"Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding!" Cecile snapped. "Now could you please get to the part where you realize that I'm somewhat pretty and that, since you are now a testosterone fueled teenage personage, even though 'thing' would be more accurate, that actually is attracted to girls, you chase me, and- HOLY crap, he already HAS gotten to that part! AAAH!" She ran screaming from the square. Marche blinked.

"Huh? Oh, well, I might as well follow her." And so he did...

_Scene_.


	2. The Clan, for lack of a better title

Chapter Two: The Clan

**(A/N: Yay for a new chapter! And no, I will not tell you who ends up with whom, 'cause it's just going to be far too fun watching you all argue. Suffice it to say, when _he_ comes in (which may or** MAY NOT** be in this chapter), the clever of you will recognize him. Just be grateful that Gelarto got a semi-lavish. I was _this_ close to just calling him a Nu Mou and being done with it.**

**Anyway, enjoy Chapter Two!)**

* * *

Cecile finally made it into Cyril, and rushed into the pub, slamming the door behind her and leaning against it, breathing heavily. Why exactly a pub was her first refuge may not make much sense, but shall be explained. Cecile was a member of the clan that owned Cyril, or, in the words of the actual residents of Ivalice, Cyril was their "turf". Anyway, this pub was where she and her fellow clanners lived, so quite naturally it was where she went. Besides, it was a small pub, and felt homey, after a few moons of living there; after one got used to the bar being so short it only accommodated three stools; after realizing that the beds on the second floor were best described as "cozy" and not "Exodus-damned small" and "large- by moogle standards!"; after one decided that, no matter what one called it, to her friends and her, it was home. 

Sort of.

In the loosest sense of the word.

Back with the characters, two people, sitting at one of the tables with playing cards, looked up at Cecile once she entered. On the left was a young man in a uniform-looking outfit, with a round blue hat that let numerous strands of his black hair stick out, a red shirt underneath his blue jacket, and a matching pair of soft-looking leather pants. His card partner was (…yay, run-on sentence upcoming!) of appearance similar to a teddy bear with floppy ears attached, dipped in graphite, and made generally more anthropomorphic. He was wearing a white robe that appeared to be made of hemp, with a red V-shaped design on the chest.

"What happened, Cecile?" The human asked. Cecile just about collapsed.

"Sphrom… Marche… Bangaa… Lizard… Engagement… Chase… Zuh!" She managed between breaths. The nu mou looked concerned.

"Edwards, Ezekiel, she is in no condition to talk! In fact, a dose of white magic is in order." He picked up from the ground a white staff, and shouted, "_Tecuro_!"

As white sparks flew out from the staff and settled into Cecile's hair, Edwards, Ezekiel muttered, "It always creeps me out when he doesn't call me Zeke…"

Cecile slowly stood, though, and sat at the third chair of the table that the two were playing cards at, placing her bow beneath her chair.

"Thank you, Gelarto," She said as she shuffled the cards and handed them to the semi-monster that is now known as Gelarto.

"Do not mention it. That is my purpose in the clan, after all." Gelarto replied as he cut the cards and passed them to Zeke.

"Only point of having a white mage, anyway," Zeke remarked while he dealt 7 cards to each player and then put the deck in the center. Each of the three picked up their hands.

"…That's what I just said." Gelarto commented as he picked up his cards.

"Got any eights, Gelarto?" Zeke asked, pointedly ignoring the response.

"Go fish." was the reply he got.

------

Time passed, spent in playing "Go Fish". Zeke had only one card left. Cecile had four. He smirked.

"Any sevens, Cecile?" The vierra in question scowled and threw three cards at him. He grinned, and put Cecile's three sevens onto the table, then put his one card- a seven- next to it. Then Zeke stood up on his chair.  
"YEAH! YES, YES, _YUUUUUUS_! I AM THE _CHAMPION_!"

"Stupid soldiers…" Cecile muttered angrily.  
"What do you eksssspect?" A sibilant voice remarked from the direction of the staircase. The voice was soon followed by a bangaa, one with a flowing blue robe and a small blue circular thing on her head. (Yes, her….) She walked the rest of the way down the stairs and stood near the table.

"Greetings, Yenke. I did not believe that you would bless us with your presence today." Gelarto said to the bangaa whom he had addressed as Yenke.

"So, Cecile, what _did_ happen that made you so tired that Gelarto needed to Cure you just so you could talk?" Zeke asked.

"I don't want to talk about it." Cecile mumbled, looking away from him.  
"Please?" Zeke pleaded.  
"Oh, fine…." She sighed, turning back to face the human. "I was going over to Sphrom, to do that one dispatch mission- you know, the one where we'd have to hang up the banners for the Solstice?"  
"Uh huh?"  
"Yeah. Anyway, I was just walking around, when I walked into the square and saw this kid. He was probably, oh, a year or so younger than you. But, you will never guess what he said to me."  
"What?"  
"You have big ears!."

"He did NOT!"  
"Yes, he did!" There was a pause while the two shared a moment of insane laughter. "Anyway, then one of the bangaa that we were supposed to help came outside- he was a white monk- and the kid, he said, 'Look! An orange lizard!'. So then the bangaa started looking all threatening, and one of his warrior friends came out, too, and I had to declare an engagement…"  
"Why do I find myself pitying the kid already?"

"You should- he was such a weakling. Poor boy got an Air Render hit at him. Strangest thing happened after that, though- when he actually attacked-"

"Don't tell me- he actually hit the guy?"  
"Yes."  
"Wow. Haven't you heard somewhere that only Epic Heroes can do that?"  
"No, can't be. You know that any ordinary punk can lift a sword… Anyway… Then I got a shot in at the monk, and he was knocked out, so we won, and the Judge gave each of us a Judgepoint. So, after the bangaa walked away, Marche-"  
"Who?"  
"Oh, I meant the kid; I forgot that I didn't mention his name. Anyway, Marche starts ranting about how he doesn't understand how he did that, because he's just a kid, he thinks!"  
"_That's_ a riot."  
"I know. So then, I pointed out to him that if he thought he was ten years old, he was crazy. So then he seemed to notice that he wasn't ten, and that I was pretty, and then I just knew that he was totally going to accost me, so I ran off screaming."

"…You are really illogical, you know that, Cecile?"  
"I am?"  
"Yes."

"Says you."  
"So?"  
"…I need a glass of water."

"You know, I'm wondering where Montblanc is. He should be done with the shopping by now…" As if on cue, the door to the pub opened, and in walked... an orange bunny rabbit. Well, he had bunny ears, at least… His coloring made his green jacket and brown pants (although they were probably smaller than Cecile's ear) look even worse than they already did on him.

"Hi, kupo!" The three card-players turned and looked down at him. They looked down because he was about one and a half feet tall.

"Greetings, Montblanc." Gelarto said, before taking the cards from everybody and beginning to shuffle them again.  
"Hey," Cecile spoke before walking to the bar and asking for a glass of water.

"Wait…." Zeke wondered, putting his finger on his chin. "How did the door open like that? Usually, because you can't reach the doorknob, you have to keep knocking before one of us realizes that it's not an insurance salesman, and lets you in. But today, the door actually opened of its own accord… That does not make sense."  
"Oh, yeah! I almost forgot, kupo! I made a new friend today! He's gonna join our clan, kupo!"

"…Why?"  
"You can't insult him before you've met him, kupopo." At this, the door opened again, and in walked…

….

(Dramatic pause. Door slowly begins to open, and just as the figure behind it can almost be seen, screen cuts to black, and then to a commercial.)

* * *

… 

Marche.

"Hi." He said, stepping into the pub. "Are you sure we're allowed here?"  
After Marche said this, several things happened in very quick succession: Cecile got her drink from the bartender, turned around, noticed Marche, dropped her glass (which naturally made a loud shattering noise), pointed at Marche, and screamed.  
"It's him, it's him! That guy I told you about who was trying to accost me, Zeke!" Marche blinked.  
"What does 'accost' mean?" Everybody else in the bar (including the bartender) sweatdropped.

"Anyway, kupo, I like this kid!" Montblanc exclaimed. "In fact, I think I will make the irreversible decision to appoint him the Leader of Clan Nutsy!"  
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Zeke whispered to Gelarto.

"No."  
"Cool!" Marche said. "What's a clan?"  
Yenke banged her head against the wall.

"Dear Adrammalech, pleasssssse sssssay that majority rulesss…" She sighed.

"The only vote required to appoint a new clan leader is the current leader's!" Montblanc chirped.  
"Crap." Gelarto and Zeke both muttered, the latter wondering why in heavens he had ever become Montblanc's friend. (Cecile would have muttered it too, but she was still in shock over the whole "The guy who almost accosted me earlier today came back" thing.)

"Anybody have objections to Marche's appointment to the position?" Montblanc asked.

"He doessssssssn't even know what a clan isss!" Yenke snapped.

"That is not our problem!" Montblanc yelled back. After a pause, he said, "Does anybody have some _valid_ objections?" The overall response was silence.

"Okay, then! Marche is now the leader of Clan Nutsy!"  
"Wait! He's LEADER now!? How dare you! He would rape innocent young recruits!" Cecile cried, coming out of shock.  
"Um… Yeah… he might…" Zeke agreed, looking at his shoes.  
"And how would you know?" Montblanc responded. After this was an uncomfortable quiet. "Well, he's leader now. First order of business, introducing you to the clan. Now, there's Zeke, our resident soldier." Montblanc continued, hopping over to the table and pointing at Zeke.

"Hey." The human in question responded.

"Yenke, our White Monk…"  
"Sssssalutationsss…" She hissed menacingly.

"Gelarto, our white mage…"  
"Hey!" Marche interrupted. "What's he?"

After a long, awkward pause, Montblanc explained, "He's a Nu Mou."

"Oh."  
"Greetings." Gelarto added kindly.

"I think you've met Cecile…"  
"He can't be our leader! He just can't be!" Cecile cried.  
"And, I'm Montblanc, black mage extraordinaire."

"Cool. Are you half-rabbit?"  
Montblanc got an angry mark on his forehead.

"That… is an insult to moogles everywhere!"  
"What's a moogle?"  
"_I'm_ a moogle!"

"So?" Montblanc banged his head against a chair leg.

"How about we choose an improved name?" Gelarto interjected. Everybody stared at him. "What? I am not the first in this group to acknowledge the stupidity of 'Nutsy', or say that it's your fault, because you always come up with horrible names."  
"He hassss a point." Yenke agreed.

"Okay. Marche? Do you have a better name?"  
"Oooooh… How about 'Wrestle'!"  
"Okay… and you spell that… R-E-S-S-E-L?" Montblanc asked, taking paper and pencil out of his (small) pocket and writing that down.  
"Um…. Sure. Let's go with that!"  
And that was how a (sort of) new clan was born, one with a (slightly) less lame name, but (by quite a few standards) a much, much stupider leader…

_Scene._


	3. Whatever happened to?

**(A/N: The third chapter, yay! This chapter is when I'm going to start using Hyphens in Strange and Various ways. No, I won't make a key unless somebody asks. Which somebody very well might.**

**Anyway, today, please don't sue me for:  
(a) Giving Ritz history in Ivalice. And Vierra blood.**

**(b) Possibly screwing up Shara's personality a bit.**

**(c) "Borrowing" Vampie's theory that Ivalice is in France. No, I didn't come up with that. I'm just assuming that he's right, and writing this story under that assumption. Read "Chronicles of the Gran Grimoire" so he'll forgive me!**

**(d) The lack of a "d", although there are probably more things that you can find that you could sue me for. Please, don't. **

**Anyway, read!)**

Chapter Three: Whatever happened to…

…Ritz awakened sitting against a tree.

"Marche?" She whispered slowly, dragging out the word so it sounded several syllables longer than it really was.

"No, I'm _Shara_, remember?" Somebody remarked from behind the tree. The somebody walked over, and stood in front of Ritz, looking closely at her as if she needed to be examined by the good doctors at Bellevue. "Honestly, what happened to you?"

"E-e-e-EARS!" Ritz cried, scuttling away from the-somebody-who-called-herself-Shara. Regardless, Ritz could be said to have something to scream about. Two soft brown rabbit-like ears sat atop Shara's cropped white hair. Shara's reaction was rolling her eyes.

"What is _wrong_ with you today, Ritz?" She asked, taking a step or two closer. "I finally find you after you've wandered off somewhere for over three hours, and all you can say is, 'EARS'?"

"Who… are you?" Ritz wondered. This was met by Shara slapping herself on the forehead and looking up at the sky.

"Somebody, please say that she hit her head on something…"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Ritz countered suddenly, figuring that perhaps she would finally get an explanation for everything going on. "Will you tell me all of the things I must have forgotten?" Shara looked confused, but sighed.

"Okay. You're Ritz, and I'm Shara. We grew up together in the town of Muscadet. That's a place where lots of Vierra live, ones like me with the ears. I'm surprised you forgot _that_, being part Vierra yourself… Anyway, we were really close friends, and on your sixteenth birthday started Clan Ritz together. Now, tell me what you remember."

"Well… My name is Ritz Malheur. I lived and attended school in St. Ivalice, France. One of my friends was named Marche. Earlier today, something strange happened, and the two of us ran away from it… And now I'm here." Shara nodded.

"Weird, that you said Ivalice… that's the name of this country."  
"No way!"  
"Yes way!"

"Weird…"  
"Anyway, let's go. I have some things I want to help you recall…"

---

In a clearing in the Materiwood, five Vierra and one mostly human girl sat in a circle. From above, they might have looked somewhat like the markings on the rim of the face of a clock.

At 6 o'clock was Ritz. She looked somewhat aloof and rather unnerved, possibly by the pink dress and boots she had noticed that she was wearing once she had left the tree with Shara, to meet the rest of the clan, who Shara was (re)introducing to her.

To her left was Shara, who needed no introduction.

"To my left, there's Colette. She's our Elementalist, and has very powerful Spirit Magic, so don't cross her."

Next to Shara was a Vierra woman in a ragged purple outfit, who looked up at Ritz and nodded. She then went back to what she was doing, which was pointing a curved blue rapier at the ground every so often, which somehow rustled up a wind that would cause a few leaves to shimmer and flutter. This seemed to give her endless enjoyment.

"Then there's Susan."

At 12 o'clock was a younger Vierra in a turquoise shirt, a blue cloak, and purple pants, the last with fifty or so leather pouches and kneepads attached. She was happily counting the blades of grass, the horn on her head occasionally grazing against said blades, and didn't react at all to what Shara said.

"I said, _hello_, Susan."

At this, Susan looked up from the grass.

"Oh. Hello, Shara, Ritz. Don't tell me, you hit your head on something and are convinced that you live in a small town in France?"  
Ritz blinked, numerous times.

"That sort of thing is normal for Susan. She's a Summoner, and talks to demigods on a weekly basis. It does things to the mind. But she can be very useful, when she's paying attention."

Besides Susan was another girl. She was looking glumly at Ritz, resting her head on her palm and appearing sad. She was much paler than the rest of the Vierra, her skin only a shade darker than Ritz's. (Although nobody was really aware of this until later, this was because she had so much human blood in her that, besides her ears and wavy purple hair, she had very little in the way of Vierra traits.) Her long white robe, with a blue X on the front, seemed to be several sizes too large for her, even allowing for how robes of that nature tend to be quite baggy. Something about this girl made Ritz feel uncomfortable, as if she was looking at a person that would be on the other team, and about to befriend them, just before realizing that they were supposed to bash in each other's skulls.

This feeling was completely justified.

"Now, next to Susan is-"

"Hazel," Ritz said suddenly, "our White Mage. She springboards from clan to clan to clan, and probably won't stay with us for more than three moons."  
Shara blinked.

"Yeah, you're right. How did you know that?"  
"I… guess I haven't forgotten everything," Ritz fibbed, staring at Hazel, wondering how she had known her name.

"Anyway, the only one left is Roxanne."

Between Hazel and Ritz sat a teenaged Vierra, wearing a long green dress and a matching veil. She was focused on the skyline, constantly scanning it for a movement, and appeared ready to shoot at even the slightest rustle of leaves with the large blue bow that she held in both hands with a strong grip.

"She's a Sniper, with great aim, and a bit too battle ready for her own-"  
"WOODPECKER!" Roxanne cried, springing to her feet and letting off three arrows at the branches of a particularly tall oak tree. Moments later, several red feathers floated down to the ground, one landing on Ritz's forehead, another amidst Colette's floating leaves, and the third on Susan's horn. None of them reacted to this.

"Good…" Shara concluded, sounding a bit nervous. "Anyway, girls, we have to get going if we're going to get to the Nubswood by Sagemoon, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," all the Vierra chorused, even Susan. They then stood, and started walking away, Hazel at the head of the group. Slowly, Ritz got up, and followed them…

------------------------------------------

…Doned was in a barrel when he opened his eyes.

"Huh…" He closed his eyes again for a moment, then suddenly opened them again. "HEY! Where'd my wheelchair go!"

"What in heavenss isssss a wheelchair, kid?" A voice hissed from outside the barrel. An orange hand, probably belonging to the owner of the voice, picked up the lid of the barrel and set it aside. Now, the face of the person was visible. It was a bangaa's face, covered in purple armor. Of course, Doned did not know what a bangaa was, so that was not what he thought he saw. Oh, no, he saw…  
"RADIOACTIVE LIZARD MAN IN HIS DRAGON CAPE! I've read all your comic books!" The bangaa should have looked displeased, but it is not easy to make facial expressions when your face is concealed by armor. However, he probably made his feelings known by grabbing Doned's ankle and lifting the young boy so he could look him in the eye.

"Never call a bangaa a lissssard again, Doned!"  
"Who's Abanga? And how do you know my name?"

"Ssssssweet Adrammalech, what isss wrong with you, boy? Why wouldn't I know?"

"Waaaah? I don't know what's going on…"

"Ah, great, I have ssssome eksssplaining to do…"

----

"So, let me see if I have this right." Doned was still being held at his ankle by the armored bangaa. By now, he could see the room fairly well. It was mostly empty, save a few barrels and chairs, and was a slightly ugly sandy color. In the corner was a staircase, leading up to somewhere, covered with a mauve rug.  
"Assss you wish."  
"My father was the closest friend of the leader of the Doned Faction, which was named that for absolutely no good reason."  
"Yesssss."

"Then he left for no good reason, so my mother was left to take care of me, being somewhat supported by the clan, since the leader felt guilty that Father had left the two of us."  
"Yesssss."

"Then this leader got killed in a Jagd engagement."  
"Yesssss."

"So my mother let the clan take me in, and went off to a convent for the rest of her life, since she would never love a man again after the two men she had loved were dead."

"Yesssss."  
"Since my mother, my father, and the clan leader were all gone, the clan was in shambles. Besides those three, everybody in the clan had had equal power, so there was no obvious choice for a new leader."  
"Yesssss."  
"Then they noticed that they had me, so they decided to let a eight-year-old boy lead eleven people who were all three times his age?"  
"Yesssss."  
"Cool! It makes no sense, but it's awesome!"

"Indeed."

---------------------------------------------------------

….Mewt was in a bed.

It was soft, and fluffy, and felt comfortable, so Mewt knew that this couldn't be the bed he usually slept in at home.

_Maybe_, he thought, _I got frostbite, and they're letting me sleep in a hospital bed._ Although he didn't remember being very cold or passing out, the explanation satisfied Mewt, because it meant that he had an excuse to keep his eyes closed; if he opened them, Mewt thought, then perhaps the doctors and nurses would decide he was alright, and make him go home.

After reasoning out all this, Mewt happily kept his eyes closed, and turned onto his side, continuing to enjoy the general comfortability of the bed.

At least, before he heard the voice.

"Mewt," The voice lilted, gentle, sweet, feminine. "Wake up, Mewt."  
"Whaaa…" Mewt whispered to himself, slowly opening his eyes and sitting against the gigantic fluffy pillows. He knew he couldn't have heard that voice, it was just his imagination… so was the woman standing there his imagination, too?  
She was very tall, at least twice Mewt's height. Her honey-brown hair was tied up in a large bun on the back of her head. A flowing black dress pinched at the woman's tiny waist and filled out to create a bell shape around her lower half. But it was her gentle smile, and kind sparkling eyes, that caused Mewt to leap out of bed and embrace her, shouting, "MAMA!"  
"Well, you're certainly happier than usual, this morning," Mewt's mother remarked, putting her arms around the boy and almost squeezing him to death. But he didn't mind, because he knew that his mama would never, ever do anything to hurt him…

-

Remedi looked at the camera and smirked evilly. Quite a few members of the audience felt a chill run through them…

---

"So where's Dad?" Mewt asked, as he lifted a spoonful of Chocob O's to his mouth.

"Oh, your father should be up shortly," His mother answered absently, as she cut her sausage and stabbed one of the pieces with her fork.

As if on cue, one of the many Royal Doors opened, and into the Royal Breakfasting Room walked somebody. A _tall_ somebody, with Judge armor. Yet, mysteriously, he wore no helmet. This lack of headwear exposed his spiked brown hair and relaxed smile. The man walked over to the table, and sat between Mewt and Remedi.

"How's the morning for ya, sport?" The man ruffled Mewt's hair playfully. Mewt was grinning like mad.

"It's been fine, dad, just fine."

-----------------------------------------------------------

_Act._


	4. Fencing, or CLASS CHANGE!

(A/N: I disclaim the following:  
The incredibly long time that it took for me to write this.

**Charise's accent.**

**The Anachronism; in other words, the reference to a deer in the headlights when, of course, there are no cars or headlights in Ivalice. **

**The three real names that appear in passing during this chapter. I highly doubt that the people who those names belong to will be reading this, or that they'll miss them, but it's better safe than sorry, so I'm apologizing now.**

**Now, for the important stuff, that being: (A) What is WITH the title of Chapter FIVE: Fencing??!!?? Isn't it the FOURTH chapter? & (B) Is there the introduction of (gasp) YET ANOTHER female character that will be significant to the plot? & (C) Ooooooh, does somebody INTERESTING come in at the fencing tourney that will come back later?  
In order of importance: Don't worry, Chapter Four exists, it's just that you don't want to read it- ask Tomai, trust him, it's horrible; you tell me, you idiotic darlings; and, maybe. You figure it out, kiddos. Or, you could always pester Kace-nee. Who, if she tells anybody, may find herself killed.**

**With all due respect, 1angelette.**

**Now, lights, camera, chapter!)**

Chapter Five: Fencing

It was a late night. Zeke and Marche had been drinking.

(This sort of thing almost invariably happens when it was late, and most of the people involved have been drinking.)

The pub was absolutely stuffed with Vierra and human women. Most of them were in purple or green. They were there for the fencing tourney, which started the day after next.

Marche was alone at the moment, as Zeke had been hauled off by a small mob an hour or so ago, and hadn't seen him since.

(The mob consisted of two human fencers, one red mage, three Vierra that happened to be hanging out in the pub, an Elementalist, and the human barmaid. The girls had pooled their resources and won an auction among the females at the pub, which regarded Zeke and was why they were allowed to haul him off. The exact nature of that auction shall not be described.)

"'Slonely 'thout 'im, cha know?" Marche said, to nobody in particular.

"Aye, that's right," the acting barmaid, a somewhat plain redhead with an English accent strikingly like that of Eliza's at the beginning of "Pygmalion" sighed, as she refilled Marche's flagon. She was the twin sister of the barmaid that had helped haul off Zeke. As her sister usually manned the bar at night, while she did so during the day, her twin got many more tips than she did, and was therefore much more financially well off. Hence, the acting barmaid had not been allowed to participate in the auction (or even be allowed to know what it was) so had to serve for her tonight.

"You ever lonely, Chris?"  
"It's Charise, bugger, and, aye, I am." Charise snapped, turning the spigot to the keg shut and slamming Marche's flagon onto the bar.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" a voice said from behind Marche. Marche turned around and looked at his friend, whose hair was significantly tousled and was grinning like a maniac.

"Very funny." Charise drawled. "Garn, speak of the devil!"

"And look what the devil's got!" Zeke raised his left arm, draped over which was a bundle of purple cloth. On the edge closest to him, two red shoes were attached. Charise's eyes visibly widened.  
"Garn! I'm glad that I didn't pay if _that's _what they were auctioning off!"

"You sure?" Zeke asked, raising an eyebrow. Charise looked angry, and picked up Marche's (now empty) flagon and whacked his head with it.

"_Aye_, I'm sure!"  
"Okay, okay!" Zeke snapped, rubbing his head.

"Wuzzat bundl' for?" Marche asked, staring at it.  
"Oh, this?" Zeke said. "I think it's obvious…." He picked up the bundle with both hands and gave it a shake, which caused it to unfurl to the ground. The clothing was most likely enchanted, because a freestanding mannequin appeared inside it as Zeke let go.

It was a purple dress, with boots that somewhat matched- their tops were purple, but the color reddened and reddened, until one's eyes reached the feet of the boots, which were crimson. The outfit appeared less revealing than the average Vierra garment at first glance; the boots went a bit past the mannequin's knees, and the dress covered two thirds of its thighs. But the dress's modesty was sabotaged by the slits; twin slashes that split the hem twice and ended just below the figure's bust. Beneath the dress was a lilac camisole made of a gossamer-like fabric, but it was so thin that it actually seemed to make the outfit _more_ revealing.

"Huh…" Marche said, staring at the mannequin. "Wonder what job that's for?"

"Look at the girls here, stupid!" Zeke said, pointing at a circle of fencers that was sitting on the ground nearest them. In the middle of the circle was a fairly handsome human man, holding a bottle. This was a Vierra game, which "Spin the Bottle" is based on, usually having some relation to breeding season. It was solely a coincidence that most of the fencers involved were human. However, the one Zeke pointed to happened to actually be a Vierra, one that looked remarkably like Cecile. Her hair was also lilac, and her skin was also best described as chocolate colored, as opposed to chocolate milk or coffee. She happened to be wearing a purple dress and red-violet boots remarkably similar to those that were on the mannequin. At her right hip was a thin silver rapier.

"Hey… That girl's wearing these clothes! And she's a fencer!" Marche exclaimed.

"Yeah!" Zeke said, voice honeyed with sarcasm. "Gee, I wonder if any of our clanners could become a fencer?"

"Hmmm…"  
"Notice the _ears_…" Zeke hinted, gesturing toward the head of the mannequin, which happened to have Vierra ears.

"HEY! Those are _Cecile's_ ears!" Marche grabbed at the outfit, which folded itself back into the bundle, sans mannequin, and ran off for the staircase in the corner of the pub.

Charise looked in the direction Marche ran off in, then at Zeke.

"Zeke! Is Cecile the Vierra archer from your clan that 'preciates a good red '79 on Starsday nights?"

"I'm not so sure about her wine preferences, but she definitely is a Vierra archer."

"Garn! She'll kill 'im!"

"Not my problem, Charise."

-

Cecile _had_ been relaxing.

She _had_ been lying on her bed in a white shift, staring at the wood of the ceiling and allowing herself to relax before falling asleep.

She _had_ been doing all this, before Marche kicked down her door and ran next to her nightstand, jumping up and down and holding something purple.

"'Cile! 'Cile! 'Cile!" Cecile put a hand over her eyes, as the sound of his feet against the ground had turned on the enchanted lamp on her nightstand.

"_What_ is so important that you see it fit to disturb me at-" she glanced at the clock- "five minutes till midnight?"  
"This!" He dropped the purple something, which must have been larger than it appeared, because in a few moments, there was a mannequin standing by her nightstand, modeling a purple dress ensemble. She recognized the clothes; they reminded her of a fencer's uniform, although most of the fencers she remembered seeing in battle wore green.

"You disturbed me just so I could look at a fencing outfit?"  
"No, I disturbed you just so you could _put on_ a fencing outfit!" Marche's grin was probably wider than his shoulders.

"Well…" Cecile touched the fabric, looking at it more closely. It was soft, and reminded her of the girlish frocks she had worn in her youth. "Fine, I'll become a fencer for you."

"Really?" Marche's smile widened slightly.  
"Yes, really." If one squinted hard enough, one could see Cecile smiling ever so slightly.

"Great! Absolutely spectacular!"  
"Your vocabulary contains the word spectacular?"  
"What does spectacular mean?" Cecile looked annoyed, and opened her mouth to say something, but shut it.  
"It's okay if you don't know what it means," she finally said. "But why are you still standing here?"  
"Why not?"  
"I'm going to _change_."  
Silence. His grin didn't waver.

"I _said_, I'm going to _change_…"  
The corners of his mouth weren't even twitching.

"I _said_-"  
"I heard you."  
There was a pause. Then Cecile threw her hourglass at him with all her might. The impact was enough to drive him ten feet backwards, leaving a Marche-shaped hole in the door.

"WHAT? _Doned_ always changed while I was in the room!"  
The next hourglass sent him clear through the door to Zeke's room across the hallway. And the opposing wall in Zeke's room.

And there wasn't any inn behind the opposing wall in Zeke's room.

---

The fencing tourney was like no other of its kind, and no other like it has come into existence since then. It took place entirely in a six-story building, and the sixty-four fencers in there would be living in said building for four weeks. Sixty-three of the contestants entering into "The Barracks", as they affectionately called it, knew exactly what was going on.

The sixty-fourth was Cecile.

She arrived one minute before nine o'clock; Cecile had thought that this would be early, considering that the mission notice Zeke had shown her said that the doors opened at quarter past nine.

In front of the doors was a veritable mob of fencers. Most stood, some sat, a few were lying down, but overall they were packed so tightly against the doors that if they were open and the building was filled with water, not a drop would escape. Most looked uncomfortable with their positions.

Cecile, slightly afraid of the mob, stayed away and leaned against the wall of the building, staring at the clocktower.

Five past… Ten past… Eleven… Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen…

The instant that the minute hand hit the ornate "III", the doors opened, and the deafening sound of sixty-three pairs of feet crashed for a moment in Cecile's ears, before the dust settled, the doors closed, and the clock hit sixteen.

She just stood there for a moment, allowing the dust to collect on her shoes, before realizing that the doors were closed.

Then Cecile ran up desperately to the door, banging her fists against the glass, shouting "LET ME IN!" at the top of her lungs. Bang-bang-bang-bang-pound-pound-pound-pound-scream-scream-scream-SCREA-

Thunk.

The door had opened suddenly, and Cecile, not expecting this, fell flat on her face.

"Garn! Good thing I gotcha in time! It's a jungle out there, innit? Less'ope you're not in the first round." Cecile got up from the floor to look at her savior. She was a young, plain human woman, with a red braid that was about two feet long. Her full light green dress swished around her ankles. Attached to her waist was a sheath, containing a slim silver rapier.

"Who... are you?"

"Why, I'm Charise, o'course!" The woman smiled friendlily. "In charge a new-fencers' orientation. Y'might also know me as the shopkeeper of Ramsen Harmory, or the day barmaid at The Prancin' Chocobo. You 'preciate a good red '79 Chardonnay on Starsday afternoons, aye?"

"…Yeah…"

"Name, please?"

"Cecile, Cecile V'mara."

"Aye…" Charise picked up a large tome off of a nearby shelf, placed it onto a nearby table, and opened it to a page somewhere near the middle. A large cloud of dust immediately flew out of the dusty pages, causing Cecile to cough. "Lesse… V'Luci, V'Marie, V'Lydia… 'Ere it is! 'V'Mara, Cecile, Group Two.'"

"Dong, dong, dong, _dong, dong,_ DONG, DONG, _DONG, DONG, DONG_!" rang the clocktower. Charise's eyes widened. "Garn, we have to be on the sixth floor in sixteen minutes!" She grabbed Cecile's hand, and ran up the staircase.

"It's allf'ly planned out, see." Charise explained as they ran. "There're eight groups with eight fencers each. Each day are nine random matches. This goes on fo' a week. Then, we lookit the recods, and at 'ow each fencer did. The ones 'at won more matches 'en they lost, they stay. The ones that 'aven't, they go 'ome."

"I see…"

"Garn! Almost forgot about the rapier system."

"Rapier…?"

"Aye. See, we can't 'ave people using different rapiers. Things'd get all unfaiah loike. Some rapiers are sharper, heavier, better than others. So the rapier you're using depends on the level of the tourney. For the first two rounds, ya have a Flambergé; third and fourth, ya have a Hestoc."

"I see…"

"Aha! There it is!"

They had gone up five flights of staircases at breakneck speed. Now, the two of them were in a small room, which seemed to have very little purpose besides being the place where a very long and skinny piece of paper was taped to the wall. The first foot of the paper looked like this:

SUNSDAY MATCHES-

9:30: Abigail Smith (1) v. Bethany V'Luci (2)

10:00: Cassandra Mosfeigh (4) v. Annamaria V'Robin (3)

10:30: Sophia V'Hara (5) v. Xandra V'Lydia (6)

11:00: Penelope Clearwater (7) v. Juanita "Nita" Callahan (8)

INTERMISSION

12:00: Chelsea Foster (1) v. Tiffany Willis (3)

12:30: Cecile V'Mara (2) v. Candice Murphy (4)

The sign went on, and there were three more matches scheduled just for today, but the pair didn't look at them.

"Huh… That's my name there. Does it mean I'll fight this_ '_Candice_'_ at twelve-thirty?"

"Aye."

"Dong, dong, dong, _dong, dong, dong,_ DONG, DONG, DONG, _DONG, DONG, DONG!_"

"Garn! I didn't realize all this time had passed! We 'ave t'get t'the stadium…"

---

Charise and Cecile stood in an arch, able to walk into the stadium when the time was right.

"Wait!" Charise cried. "I need t'do two things foist."

"Which are…"

Without responding, Charise turned around, opened a chest, and rummaged around for a moment. Then, she turned around, holding a few objects.

"Turn around." Cecile obliged.

"Yall need this-" Charise handed Cecile a shiny gold Flambergé. "-and this." She handed her a round shield.

"Anything else?"  
"Aye…" Charise admitted with practiced innocence.

"Such as…?"

Charise hesitated for an instant, before grabbing Cecile's long braid and slashing at it three times with her knife.

"Ah!" Cecile couldn't restrain a cry as she watched her lavender locks fall to the ground.

"Aw, relax! Yall live, and these styles always look better than the original, anyway." She handed her a handmirror.

Cecile could swear that the same Vierra wasn't looking back at her. Her reflection was glowing with confidence and smirking impishly. The reflection's hair was definitely not her own; practically white, with only the vaguest tint of purple, and short, gently windswept, certainly prettier than her long braid.

"I'm… pretty."

"Pretty? Naw, you was pretty before that. You're _gorgeous_."

"That too," Cecile heard herself saying.

"Now, git out there!" Charise shoved her, outside of the safety of the arch, into the limelight.

-

"Face defeat, Tiffany." These words were uttered by a human young woman with shiny waist-length blonde tresses and a prim green fencing uniform. Eight or nine small green insects buzzed around her head, stinging every so often. She held a showy golden rapier, point just barely imbedded in the chest of another fencer, this one also human but wearing a purple fencing uniform. This girl's ankles, strangely lacking the long boots that were typical, appeared to have anklets made of shadows on them.

"_Never_ shall I give up, _Foster_," the girl who the green fencer had called Tiffany hissed.

"Why, Tiffany, I thought we were on a first name basis," came the reply. "Besides, I'm the one with the power in this situation. You know that at any moment I could pierce right through your skin."

"I choose to bide my time, and wait for the _swarm_ to strike." As if on cue, the largest of the bugs stung the green fencer particularly hard.

"Ow!" She took one of her hands off of her rapier to swat at the pest, and Tiffany took advantage of the distraction, sliding backwards and wincing slightly as the weapon fell out of her chest.

"Who's at a disadvantage now, _Chelse_?"  
"Don't you dare use an affectionate variant of my name with me!" Chelsea was clearly angry, trying not to let the now more-constant stings from the bugs bother her.

"Oho, we're using big words now, aren't we? Impressive."

"Uuuuuuuugh, you stop that impudence right this minute!"

"Make me."

This was clearly the last straw; Chelsea lunged at Tiffany…

And the thrust hit her ankles, causing the shadowy bonds around them to dissipate.

There was a collective gasp from the ground as Tiffany stepped back, coming to her feet again, retrieving her rapier that had fallen to the ground behind her.

"_Now_ who's facing defeat?"

"You are!" Chelsea cried, lunging forward again-

And Tiffany leapt backwards, to such a height that she avoided the thrust.

There was a moment of silence, save the gasp of the crowd, as the two young women stood there, stock-still, both trying to stare the other down.

Then Tiffany quickly extended her weapon arm, rapier dancing across her adversary's forehead, creating myriad little nicks and scrapes across Chelsea's forehead.

Each alone would have been inconsequential, but there were at least thirty miniature wounds, and together they hurt about as much as, say, having your head cut open.

"Oah-oah-oah-oah-_oh_…" moaned Chelsea, shuffling from foot to foot in a disoriented way probably indicative of how she was trying to distinguish between the three Tiffanies in front of her. She decided on the one on the left, just before a bee stung dead center on the forehead.

"Nighty-night," Tiffany whispered darkly as her opponent's body crumpled to the ground.

Already, the sparks of judge magic were rushing to Chelsea's aid, scurrying around her face, endowing her with a very faint white glow. One or two caught Tiffany, but she didn't pay attention. All that anybody was listening to was the sound of the judge:  
"The winner of this engagement has been TIFFANY WILLIS!"  
Smiling, Tiffany nodded, walking away to the third arch to claim a trinket of her victory. "Chelseafosterwillbetoldtogowangstaboutherlosssomewhereelse."

The white sparks swarmed around Chelsea's body, forming a sort of stretcher beneath her, carrying her off to heaven-knows-where.

"Now, let's hear it for… CANDICE MURPHY!"

From one of the arches on each side of the stadium came a Vierra, with green hair and a matching outfit. She had skin was as dark as coffee and big soft brown eyes that would have been more at home on a deer, most likely one caught in the headlights. There was an appreciative murmur from the crowd, a couple half-hearted claps, and one "YAY, CANDICE!" followed by silence. Candice smiled weakly, looked slightly panicked, and rushed to the center of the arena.

"And let's also hear it for newcomer…. CECILE V'MARA!"

If there was one thing you could say for Charise, it was this: She had perfect timing. As the judge yelled her name, Cecile near-tripped out of the arch opposite the one that Candice had come out of. Strangely, the crowd burst into raucous applause, and quite a few whistles could be heard before she stopped just in front of Candice.

"Candice, I assume?" she said, extending her hand.

"Yes, and you're Cecile, right?" Candice asked, taking her hand and shaking it.

"Certainly so. This is my first fencing tourney, did you know?"  
"Oh, thank heaven's that's so!" Candice's voice sank to a whisper. "I'll feel _sooo_ much less guilty about throwing this match, then!"

"What? Why in Ivalice would you do _that_?"  
"Oh, we _should_ start fighting about now! We can talk while doing so, then-" Even as she said this, the judge walked over to the two fencers.

"Okay, lassies, I want to see a good clean fight, now. No eyeball piercing, throwing matches, anything like that. Aye?"  
"Yessir." Cecile and Candice answered in unison, looking only the slightest bit nervous.

"Good." The Judge rushed back to his balcony above the stadium, and blew the whistle.

-----------------------------------

Dramatic music played as the sound of the whistle died. Two or three of the members of the audience popped pieces of popcorn into their mouths.

------------------------------------

"So, you're going to throw this match, why?" Cecile tightened her grip on the rapier in her hand.

"I didn't become a fencer of my own free will, first of all." Candice drew her rapier back at a glacial pace. "You might want to dodge this, dear." Cecile leaned rapidly to her right, missing Candice's attack by several inches.

"Really? What class did you want to take on?" Cecile stepped back.  
"At first, I didn't want any class at all; I couldn't imagine fighting in battles and hurting anybody. C'mon, gimme a fight!" She said the last sentence more loudly, for the benefit of the audience.

"At first, you say?" Cecile swung in the general direction of Candice's head. To her surprise, she actually hit, a small scrape appearing on Candice's ear. Candice began to rapidly mutter something under her breath, shifting from foot to foot. The scrape mended itself, gleaming white for a half-moment.

"Oh, yes- then I discovered the White Mage role. Did you see what happened to that scrape you inflicted on my ear?"  
"Uh huh…"  
"That was white magic. It's so soothing, whispering mantras under your breath and making things right again. I love it… but my mother doesn't."  
"Explain?"  
"She's the reason I'm obligated to fence." Candice swung again, this shot directed at Cecile's midsection. Cecile jumped, reflexively parrying the blow with her own rapier, almost hitting Candice's weapon out of her grip. Not expecting this, coupled with the pain in her wrist, Candice stepped back dizzily.  
"Oh… I see you're skilled, Cecile. You've obviously only done this briefly, because any fencer who'd done this more than, oh, twice, say, would have pseudo-killed me by now."

"Thank you, and you might want to duck." Cecile attacked her again, aiming for her head a second time. Still disoriented by the hit she'd already taken, Candice didn't catch the attempt in time to stop it, causing Cecile's rapier to form an ugly red cut on her forehead. She stepped back, head aching, and sighed.

"Impressive, oh so impressive… Reminds me of my mother back as I heard she was during her prime- perhaps you've heard of Hattie?"  
"You're _Hattie's_ daughter? Wasn't she, like, on the Brown Rabbits before Vili the second took over?"  
"Oh, yes she was. Ah, dear, I've let myself loose too much blood. Excellent! Let's hope that by the next time we meet, I'm a White Mage…" Candice, for reasons she had just explained, promptly fainted.

Cecile didn't listen to the screech of the whistle, didn't see Candice being hauled off, didn't feel the roars of the audience so loud that they shook the ground. She was haunted by her thoughts.

Not the thought that this had been too flipping easy to fence, not that it had come all too naturally to be at all normal, not that there was _no way_ Candice could have lost so much blood so quickly.

All that haunted her was the incredibly strong feeling that she would see Candice again.

-----------------------------

"You're back, Cecile. I presume you did well?"

Cecile nodded, medal around her neck clanging against her chest.

"Yup. I can't believe an amateur like me _won_! Well, made it to the finals, at any rate."

"As I knew. Unfortunately, Marche doesn't have time to congratulate you. He's too busy wangsting about how his role in the chapter was shortchanged, because we didn't have time for this ridiculous array of scenes that was going to involve him. Is that well with you?"  
"….What?"  
"Never mind. Just go and relax until you have to go to the finals in Bervenia, Cecile."  
"…Sure…"  
"Ah, yes, we need to end this ch- _encounter-_ more dramatically than that."  
"…_Whaaaaat?"_

"Good enough," Gelarto sighed, checking off something on his clipboard. "Go to sleep."  
And that, anticlimactic as it sounds, is what Cecile… did not do.

"Is that dramatic enough? Might as well be." Gelarto checked off a second box.

------------------------------

_Scene._


	5. The Thief, or THIEFIE!

**(A/N: Rushed, and imperfect, but I don't give three damns, because…**

**Romance! Romance! ROMANCE!**

**Ah, the joys of shipping…**

**Here, I should reinforce a warning:  
I am a romantic of the hopeless variety. Deal with it. You literally wouldn't be reading this if I hadn't been playing FFTA one day, noticed that two of my characters were standing next to each other, and said, "Gee, maybe they'd make a great couple!". No, seriously. You wouldn't be.  
And now that glorious hopeless romanticism BEGINS! To review:  
I will mostly be going off of the following "reliable" sources: The fifty gajillion YA romances I've read; all of those romantic comedies littering theaters; Ugly Betty; and the absolutely adorable Eric/Jessica relationship on Big Brother 8.**

**Look out, boys. You're in for a bumpy ride. Let's hope that the stuff won't start dripping out of your ears.**

**Before I forget, I must say: Yes, time has Passed. Tourneys have been won.**

**Oh, yes, and a cookie goes to whoever figures out what's up with this chapter, unless you are Sage, because he of all people should know.)**

Chapter Six: The Thief

Thief. That was the only word to describe the handsome young man lying on the canvas roof of one of the stalls in the marketplace somewhere around the outskirts of Bervenia.

He blew a pesky strand of brown hair out of his face. _Stupid bandana_, he thought. The simple piece of green fabric, while useless in the field of keeping hair out of one's face, was actually a weapon of sorts; anything female with fingers in a radius of ten feet that could see him would most likely be immobilized by the desire to brush his hair out of his forehead. This had never actually happened around him, but a thief could hope, couldn't he?

Extremely unlikely, this was, but it satisfied him.

(That, and it matched his cloak.)

He was targeting a ruby earring.

It was an extremely elegant earring, consisting of a single ruby shaped somewhat like a cone, and a piece of wire attached to it, allowing it to dangle temptingly on the ear of a comely Vierra. She stood in front of the stall across from the one whose roof he was borrowing, arguing with a moogle standing on a stool behind the stall, probably the owner. Come to think of it, elegant might describe more than the earring…

Elegant- the word fit _her_ even better than it did the earring. Most accurately, it could be applied to her shock of short lavender hair, which had almost definitely been longer until quite recently. It also described her pretty prim outfit: purple minidress; matching boots; rapier hanging at her side in an invisible sh- Wait!  
Fencer! That's what she had to be; it was so obvious. But it also didn't make any sense- he'd always fought fencers in _green_… Didn't all fencers have to wear that color?

"_That's_ as low as you'll go? How pathetically cheapskate." she said suddenly, more loudly than she had been talking before. The thief realized that, now that money was about to be exchanged, the targets-

_Hey, _target, singular_, as in _not_ including the fencer-babe, _he reminded himself. _Can't let the gals distract you, can ya? Don't want to meet Kumquat's fate, do ya?_

It didn't matter, he decided. The point was that the earring would be easy to get hold of, because the Vierra would be distracted. Right?  
Ending his train of thought, he reached forward to grasp the ruby, and-

Fencer-girl, as if on cue, unsheathed her rapier and tossed it into the air, letting it spin a few times, cutting the air with a loud hiss, the sound soon followed by the buzzing of… "BUGS! Ow, ow, OW!"

The thief quickly took his hand away from her ear, slapping at the pesky stinging insects that always are summoned by the "Swarmstrike" technique. The Vierra caught the rapier as it landed, placing it back in its sheath, and paid the shopkeeper, putting something in her pocket before turning around and smirking at the poor human.

"Ha! I knew those anti-theft charms would have to pay off sometime. These earrings have been stolen more times than you've actually nabbed something." She took a step toward him with each word, smirk fading into a smile by the time she ended the sentence.

Explicably (not), something about that smile caused him to momentarily stop slapping and just stare at her with his mouth open, earning him a sting on the tongue.

"The name's Cecile. Clan Ressel. Try and find me?" she whispered, and pursed her lips in what could have been called a kiss before turning around and walking away. The thief could only stand there, for several moments, before managing to utter a reply.

"HODGES!" he finally yelled, after Cecile had reached the corner and was about to turn left. He swore that she stopped and her ear twitched. "CYRIL BAND!" After the second word, she resumed walking, a bit faster than before…

Earring. Almost as pretty as she was, and now it was nice and _safe_ inside his pocket. _It's official; she doesn't notice it's gone. Finders, keepers, right?_ It was amazing to him, how he could so easily snatch things without anybody's notice. These armlets made it even easier. He looked at them for a moment, dark blue fabric covering the back of his hands but not his fingers, white steel extending from his wrist to his elbow, covered with designs in a shiny pale blue ink. The question of what those designs exactly meant flickered in the back of his head for an instant- like a match ignited and immediately blown out. Then he lowered his hand, leapt down from the cloth and stepped into the street, allowing the crowd to take him in and make him almost invisible to passerby.

-

Feather light were her footsteps against the ground, almost as light as her head felt.

Trying to remember the last time she'd felt so airy, Cecile failed.

_Hodges. Hodges. _Hodges… The name fluttered around in her mind, much like the butterflies inside her abdomen.

Even allowing for how light she was inside, there was not an excuse for how she didn't notice how much lighter one ear was than the other…

---

The door to The Prancing Chocobo opened, admitting Cecile inside. She sat down at Zeke's table, where he was shuffling a deck of cards.

He looked up, smiled wryly.

"Interesting haul you've got there," the soldier said, only half-interested in the large bounty she had with her.

"Eh, it's not that much…"

First, she lifted up the large trophy, with "Swords in Cyril" printed on its base in large letters. Inside was a slim gray rapier, along with a shiny gold-like sword.

"Then, last, but definitely not least, I got this beautiful pair of earrings…" Cecile turned her head to show off her jewelry bounty. Zeke raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, that's _earring_, 'Cile." She almost laughed at the sheer irony of his statement. That thief- Hodges- he'd tried to steal her earring! Impulsively, though, she reached up toward her-

Ear. Her left ear, the one she'd felt the wave of consciousness come from when that handsome thief had tried to nick it. _Tried, tried, _tried… she reassured herself as she tried to feel the earring and- _got air_. Nothing, nothing at all, was there. And now, Zeke, probably reading the concern on her face like a book, was continuing what he was saying- "There was a thief, wasn't there, 'Cile? Right, right? And he stole your earring?" _Oh, certainly, Zeke,_ she thought,_ but…_

_That's not the only thing he stole._

--------_---------_------------------------

_Scene._


	6. In Which Romantic Tension is Established

(A/N: Today, Ritz and Shara COME BACK! Yaaaay!

Sadly, Roxanne, Hazel, Susan, and Colette do not come back _this_ chapter. Keyword: This.

I must _claim_ the "REAL reason why Ritz doesn't wanna go back" theory. It's mine, all mine!

Three guesses what it is, and the first two don't count.)

Chapter Seven: Is that chick with the pink hair….

"The Cheetahs…" Marche said to Montblanc, the former's boot making an imprint on the muddy riverbank. They were walking in a forest that was presumably the Nubswood, as they were surrounded by sparse oak trees, as opposed to the tightly clustered elms of the Materiwood, or the evergreens native to the Koringwood, or the various fruit trees one finds in the Salikawood. "Strange name for a mission, isn't it?"

"Kupo, you just said something intelligent. And accurate," his moogle companion answered, hopping from a rock on the bank to a rock in the middle of the river.

"Say, where'd Cecile and Zeke and Yenke and Gelarto go?"  
"You said their names in the wrong order, kupo, and they'll catch up eventually, kupo. They always do," Montblanc insisted.

"Sure?" Marche looked doubtful.  
"Yes, kupo."  
"Why?"

"There's a logical explanation, kupo. I think. Exactly what it is, kupo, I don't know."  
"So, you don't know."  
"Yes, kupo."

"Darn!"  
"Look, kupo! There's that bush shaped like Shirley Basset, kupo!"

"Who's Shirley Basset?"  
"I haven't the faintest idea, kupo."

"Oh. That sucks."

"It doesn't matter! The point is, _this_ is where-"

"Hey." These words were spoken by a voice coming from behind the pair. Marche and Montblanc stopped walking for a moment.  
"Didja say that, Montblanc?"  
"I didn't say 'hey', kupo!"  
"I _said_, hello! Now, ask where Zeke and Gelarto and Yenke are." Marche turned around, and noticed Cecile standing behind him. He looked surprised.

"Hey! Cecile! You don't have Zeke, Gelarto, or Yenke with you!"

"They found some dirty rotten no-good thief…"

-

"We're gonna get back the chickens you stole, you dirty rotten no-good thief!" Zeke cried, standing his ground in front of a human in a long purple cloak with a matching bandana. Gelarto stood to his left, Yenke to his right.

"Yer _not_ gonner recover those chickins I stole, and I'm a filthy rotten no-good _burglar_!" the thief said in annoyance, stepping toward them.

"Yes we _are_ gonna get 'em back!"  
"No yer not!"  
"Yes we are!"

"No!"

"Yes!"  
"No!"  
"Yes!"  
"NO!"  
"YES!"  
"NO, NO, NO!"  
"YES YES YES!"  
"NO, NO, NO!"

"NO, NO, NO!"

"YES YES YES!"  
"Ha! Yer admittin' that we are gonner recover those chickins y'stole!"  
"…Ya just said 'yer'!"  
"No, I didn't!"  
"Yes yer did!"  
"No I didn't!"  
"Yes yer did!"  
"No!"  
"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"  
"NO…"

-

"Oh, _when_ will it sink in that you have absolutely no chance in this face-off and just give up?"

This voice was one that belonged to nobody in the threesome, and caused the trio to look up, although this might have also had something to do with the fact that this also happened to be their destination. The scene that greeted them was complete, utter chaos.

They were in a small clearing, along with seven other people. A river divided the clearing into two halves, a near side and a far side, so to speak. Arrows were flying in every which direction.

On the side of the river away from Marche and company, a human archer was standing aggressively with his bow cocked. A watcher might wonder why he bothered to do this, as the large hat he was wearing covered his eyes to the point where he could barely see. The hat was yellow, of course, along with his tunic and breeches and boots. If there's one thing that you can count on with an archer, it's that he (or she) will devote themselves to wearing as much yellow as possible.

Standing nearby the archer was a monk, wearing the long red robe and matching circular headpiece typical of that profession. His fist was drawn back in a way that made it appear that he was punching somebody, but nobody stood in front of him.

Far behind both the monk and the archer was a Judge. As usual, absolutely nobody paid any attention to him.

On the near side of the river was significantly more chaos. The archer, a Vierra, and slightly pale for one, was shooting at least seven arrows a minute in the direction of the far side of the river. She was stunning, like most Vierra are, but that wasn't the thing about her that made Marche's jaw drop.

No, his jaw dropped because she was wearing _green_. _Green_ ribbon tied around her short white hair, _green _furry knee-length boots on her feet, _green_ minidress that resembled Cecile's old archery clothing in all regards barring the color. If he hadn't known better, he would have said that the blood bleeding from her right leg was green, too.

Not far from her feet was the unconscious body of a Nu Mou mage. Several arrows stuck out of his head, and a few puncture wounds were in his back. A purple moogle thief was picking his pockets.

Closest to them, though, was the most interesting sight. A fighter and a human fencer were locked together in a violent one-on-one fight. He was swinging his blade at her as fast as he could, standard-issue armor clinking constantly. She, however, simply smiled, dodging all his attacks, occasionally throwing in a hit with her rapier. As for the fencer herself…

She was, hands down, the prettiest girl Marche had ever seen.

Her long pink hair fluttered in the wind, like a thick pink ribbon. Her shining emerald eyes positively sparkled in the morning sunlight. The girl's dress was a pretty pale pink number without the slits that Marche had seen on fencers before, but made up for it by being tighter, and clinging in _just_ the right-

An arrow hit his head, making a very loud _Thwonk!_ as it did so. Marche didn't notice.

"Oy!" shouted the human archer. "It's another bunch 'a do-gooders! Let's get 'em!"

Hearing this, the Vierra archer's ear perked up, and she turned slightly toward Marche and his friends. "Somebody's here, Ritz," she remarked casually, taking an arrow out of her quiver. "Do the whole friend-or-foe trick on 'em, will you?"

"Uhuh…" the fencer said. She turned around, and looked at him, Montblanc, and Cecile. Her gaze focused on the former, going through him like a laser beam. For the first half-instant after she saw him, she looked happy, pleased with his presence, smiling in a flirty-friendly sort of way. But then a cloud of recognition fell across her features, and she frowned, clearly thinking _Oh-good-heavens-you're-that-little-cockroach-I-thought-I-scraped-off-my-shoe-last-week_.

Marche's jaw dropped. He didn't see the resentment, the hatred, in her glance. All he could see was her oddly childish face (so at odds with her supermodel body, although he didn't think that) and how familiar her bare forehead, her high cheekbones, her gentle smile- how the face clearly belonged to the girl he had known for, like, an entire _week_.

_Ritz_ was here.

Ritz was _here_.

_Ritz was here_.

Being gripped by a realization of this nature, Marche reacted as any person with one lone kernel of candy corn for a brain would: He ran forward and hugged Ritz as tightly as he could. Which was very, very tight.

"Ritz! You're alive!"

Ritz squirmed in his embrace, pastel skin turning slightly blue.

"Ah… uh… giuh…." she gasped, trying to get air into her squished lungs.

"You're a-_li-i-i-ive!_"

"I. Knew. That." Ritz snapped, having squirmed enough that she could breathe. "Now, let go?"  
Marche obliged, reluctantly. Ritz skipped several steps away from the fighter and turned to face the Vierra archer. "Tough call on this one. He's probably here to help us, but he's a…" She closed her eyes, opened them again. "A…"

"Who cares what I am?" Marche interrupted. "I'm here to help you, and my clan did take on this mission for, like, 1200 gil!"

"So you're helping us?"  
"Sure!"

"ATTENTION! Three new members have been inducted into the fight. The engagement is now as such: Arthur the Archer, MacGregor the White Monk, Davis the Fighter and Marvin the Thief VERSUS Shara the Archer, Ritz the Fencer, Montblanc the shame to all mooglekind, Cecile the Fencer, and Marche the soldier! Remember, Copycat is forbidden today."

Absolutely nobody listened at all to what the judge was saying. They would regret that.

"Okay, _you_ two-" Ritz gestured toward Marche and Montblanc – "take the other side of the river." They nodded, walking in that direction already.  
"I suppose you're taking the fighter?"  
"Yes – It'll only take a moment until it _finally_ sinks in that I've left his side."

"So that means I'll be taking the-"  
Ritz leapt to face the Fighter again, recommencing her dance on his blade. He didn't seem to notice that she had ever left, and proceeded to hack desperately at her ankles, likely to chop off a foot if she missed a beat.  
"Thief…" Cecile finished lamely, shuffling off.

-

The thief blinked.

-

It was over.

Well, close enough to over, anyway. Only three more things were going to happen:  
Firstly, Marche would stab the White Monk, who would collapse.

Secondly, Cecile would jab the Thief one last time; he would also collapse.

Thirdly, the judge would spirit off all the criminals involved.

The first things happened entirely conventionally: Thwonk, thunk, Judgepoint.

The second thing happened slightly less so: Thwonk, thunk, no Judgepoint. Nobody noticed.

Thing the third was where things absolutely went to hell.

The judge pointed at the monk's body, which vanished in a swirl of white sparks. He pointed at the Nu Mou's quasi-corpse, at the Archer's body, at the Fighter's armored form, and they were gone. Then he scurried up to Cecile.

Nobody left attributed a whit of significance to this event; they assumed she was simply receiving a Judgepoint. But then the Judge gave her something else: A red card to the forehead.

Everybody stared at the card.

"Whaaaaaaaaat?" Cecile gasped.

"Copycat law. He jabbed, right before you stabbed. Two subsequent fight actions."  
"…Lots of other people did that! Ritz and that fighter were-"

"Look, do you want _her_ in prison, too?"

"…No…"  
"Good. Now…"  
Swirls. Sparks. And just like that, Cecile was gone.

---

"She's in _jail_?" Marche articulated in shock.

"That doesn't matter," Shara said sharply. "We need to talk: Ritz recognizes you, I don't, and from the way she's looking at you, I doubt you're family. Introductions, please?"  
"Y-you and Montblanc first," Marche countered.

"Montblanc is the moogle, I assume?" Ritz asked, raising an eyebrow.

"At your service, kupopo." Montblanc acknowledged, bouncing nearer to the threesome and nodding.

"Okay, I've covered Mon-"

"No you have _not_." Shara snapped, glaring at him. "Where did you meet? How? When? Why?"

"Well, after Mewt opened the book and I grabbed your hand and everything went black, I woke up, Montblanc found me, and…. Yeah."

"Kupo accurate!" Montblanc added.

For a moment, there was silence.

"When did you take my hand?" Ritz fibbed.

Marche stared.

"Whaaat? You remember – everybody was throwing snowballs at poor Mewt, and, and, and…"  
"That. Never. Happened." Ritz hissed, voice cutting through the air like a Laglace Sword.

"Um, it _did_-"

"No, it didn't. For my entire life, I have lived in Muscadet, been best friends with Shara Hardesty, and trained in the art of fencing. You visited the town where I reside exactly once, during the Full Moon festival. You stayed for a week, but then I hit my head, contracted amnesia, and have recollections of being a schoolchild in a place called France where humans are the only race, one six years younger than I actually am at that. You feature… significantly in those memories."  
"I _do_? How?" Marche suddenly looked interested, but a glare from Shara silenced him.

'That is something I choose not to reveal at this time," Ritz snapped, cheeks subtly changing tint to something a bit closer to her hair color.

"You're even _more_ bitter than I remember, Ritz," Marche laughed. "Even back in St. Ivalice, you-"

"I never _lived _in 'Saint' Ivalice," Ritz snapped. "You don't have time to remember me as tart. But…" Ritz's voice softened, a bit of the cold edge melting away, "Even if Saint Ivalice ever existed, even if…. Back there… I felt… Felt…" She looked away for a moment, before facing him again. "You could never get me to return."  
"But Ritz! I want to go home!"  
"Why bother? What _is_ home? It's such a subjective concept! Why should I care?"  
"…Why not, Ritz?"  
There was a moment of steely silence. Then Ritz quietly said,  
"Marche, if you even knew the slightest thing about me, you would understand that I could never face Saint Ivalice again."  
"…Ritz…"  
"I hate you," Ritz lied, turning around again, running away, Shara following her.

And that was how beautiful, beautiful Ritz appeared to walk straight out of Marche's life.

----------------------------------

_Scene._


	7. Commander & Lieutenant: 2 Conversations

**(A/N: It has come to my attention that some of you dislike my tendency not to put "he-said-she-said" after every single line of dialogue.**

**Not putting such markers of who said what is part of an art known as **_alldialogue_. **This is a very fun method of writing; if you dislike it, I recommend that you close this window now, as this chapter consists of essentially entirely alldialogue.)**

Chapter Seven And A Half: Lieutenant & Commander: Two and one-third Conversations

-------------------------------

The pub in Cyril, at least midnight. The time, obvious from the low occupancy of the place – one barmaid, very blonde, busty, and otherwise lusty, half-asleep behind the bar; a group of men in a corner, having a small arm-wrestling contest; a few young people in the corner, clearly engaging in a drinking competition; and that's all.

Or at least, until the entrance of two clansmen – one moogle, orange furred, ugly clothing, along with one human boy, appearing sixteen, tousled blonde hair, sweaty and exhausted.

"Today," he declares, "sucked _so_ much, Montblanc."  
"Elaborate, kupopo?"

"I was _soooo_ sure that once I found Ritz, everything would be the same again!"  
"And?"  
"But… things are different now."  
"Shoulda had longer chapters on that fic…"

"What?"  
"Nothing, kupo! Continue, kupo."  
"'Kay, then. Anyway, things are different now – Ritz looks like a supermodel, she's convinced that absolutely nothing happened, and my best clanner is in jail!"  
"Hey, kupo? What about _me_, kupo?"  
"Oh, you? Actually… You suck."  
"Oh, thanks soooo much, kupo. That makes me feel so kupo _wonderful_ about myself."  
"Really?"  
"No! Now, what's so wrong with that?"

"Well, this isn't the real _world_, Monty!"  
"…"  
"…"  
"…_Monty?_"  
"Um, yeah…"

"Nobody has _ever_ called me Monty!"

"So?"  
"It's _weird,_ kupo!"  
"Who cares?"

"_I_ do!"  
"So, nobody cares."  
"But _I_ care! Kupo!"  
"Exactly."  
"…"  
"…"

"You know, that's the most intelligent thing you've said in kupo forever, kupo."  
"Really?"  
"…Kupo, forget about it. Now, what's wrong with the fact that Things Are Different Now, kupo?"  
"…Well, it defies the natural order of things! Ritz is a girl; I'm not supposed to think about her all the time! I'm supposed to think about swinging my sword and stuff like that! It's not normal for me to be remembering her pretty pink hair and the way she smiles at me and… and… and…. Monty? Are you still listening?"  
"_What_ did I say about calling me that?"

"Nobody cares about it?"  
"I said that _I_ cared!"  
"Which means that nobody cares."  
"…"

"Montblanc! Why are you slamming your head against the table?"  
"Headdesk… headdesk… headdesk…"

"…"  
"…"

"Are you still listening? It's _weird_ for me to be thinking of Ritz all the time!"  
"Well, kupo, even if you've been thinking of her ever since she left-"  
"I've been doing that."  
"…Even so, that doesn't mean 'all the time', kupo."  
"Really?"  
"Yes, kupo."

"But still, Montblanc! I'm not supposed to _think_ about her like this! She's a _girl_! And girls are all gross, and they like flowers and pink and all this icky girly stuff…"

"…Have you ever considered, kupo, that girls think that boys are all icky and gross for liking things like mud and toy trucks?"  
"No."  
"Well. That doesn't matter, kupo. How are you feeling? Do you feel like you have a fever?"

"Um… I feel all warm and tingly inside, and my heart is beating a thousand beats a minute. Does that count?"

"…"

"…Montblanc?"  
"There's no doubt about it, kupo. You've got it horrible, kupo."  
"Got what? How? Is there a cure?"

"In order, kupo: The Jones for her; because she's gorgeous; and unless you claw your heart out of your chest, kupo, probably not, kupo."  
"…The 'Jones'? What's that?"

"Well, when a stupid boy meets a hot girl-"

"Zeke! You shut up, kupo! Go back to sleeping, or thinking about Charise, or whatever the kupo hell it is you do in your spare time!"  
"Oy! Dontcha mean me, not that stupid sister o' mine?"  
"Trust me, dollface, he means Charise. But exactly what would have lovely _you_ involved-"

"Zeke, you've had too much to drink, kupo."

"'E probably 'as. In fact, I think I'll just 'aul 'im off now…"  
"…"  
"…."  
"…"  
"That Christine chick is _a_ whore, kupopo."

"Yeah, but she's gone now! And Zeke is, too!"

"And we _care_, kupo?"  
"Uhuh…."  
"Well. Anyway, kupo, about Ritz?"  
"She's giving me a headache. And a heartache."  
"…It's time for sleep, kupo."

-----------------------------------------------------------

The pub, Muscadet, probably around one in the morning. The only people visible: A single Vierra, in barmaid garb, behind the counter, looking drowsy; a moogle standing on a barstool, singing a dirty ditty while juggling knives; a quartet of twittering human women, sitting at the bar on stools, chatting without cease.

Wait- we forget the door, becoming open, allowing the entrance of a pair of friends. The one who enters first: Human, female, about seventeen, long pink hair and clothing to match. At her heels, a Vierra, holding a bow, green clothing that defies her likeliest class. The latter's first statement is:

"Okay, Ritz, I'll bite: Who in the heavens was that guy?"  
"He was… Look, you remember when we first m- I mean, when I first saw you after hitting my head?"  
"Yeah…"  
"And you remember the name I first said when I woke up?"  
"Wasn't it… Marche?"  
"Yes, it was; that's the name of the guy."  
"…But Marche is somebody from your false memories, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's somebody from my false recollections of my life."

"Yet, you never knew him in Muscadet…"  
"Uhuh. In Ivalice-as-it-is-now, I've never met him until this day."

"But you recognized him?"  
"Yes."  
"So… he's evidence that there's something to your false memories?"  
"…I really don't like that idea."  
"Neither do I; but there are two logical explanations, and that's only one of them."  
"There's a_ logical_ explanation for this, Shara?"  
"Yes, there are always two for everything. Now, will you allow me to present them?"  
"Okay."  
"The first is that Marche is actually right, that the world he speaks of and that you remember is The Real World, that everything and everyone in Ivalice whom you can't remember, myself included, is an elaborate mirage, and that you have woven an elaborate web of denial and lies for yourself in not acknowledging the truth of this matter."

"And the second?"  
"Marche is bonkers, but you two were in love in a past life, so Fate has conspired to get you back together, and planted the false memories to aid this process."

"Mmhmm…"  
"Personally, I like the second explanation more."  
"So do I."

"Honestly, that weedy human kid being anything besides–"

"Absolutely without doubt the hottest man alive?"  
"…"

"…"  
"…"  
"Hazel, go away. Shara and I are having a conversation."  
"Yes, we _were_."  
"But he _is_!"  
"And you know this because…"  
"Well, he gathered the sacred Muscamoli herbs while a mob of monsters attacked him! And he used them to cure the fever of an entire neighborhood!"  
"…He picked flowers that grow everywhere and they were utilized to cure _ten_ people's headaches."

"Shara has a point, Hazel. Leave us alone."

"But he single-handedly recovered a university's library with the knives of twenty bandits at his throat!"  
"It's not schematically possible for twenty people to have knives at his throat, Hazel."

"And he faced _six_ bandits with the help of _five_ other people to recover _one_ research paper."

"…"  
"Say, Ritz, wasn't that thesis they recovered written by a Nu Mou who'd just gotten out of elementary school?"  
"Why yes, Shara, I think it was."  
"…But Nu Mou learn a _lot_ at elementary school!"

"…"

"Uuuuugh…"  
"Ritz, why are you banging your head against the table?"

"Hazel, shut up, and let her bang her head in peace. While you're at it, you could just leave _me_ in peace, which amounts to the same thing."

"Anyway, I have one example that _neither_ of you can deny!"  
"Which is…?"  
"In that tale of how he and two friends defeated ten bandits with the assistance of a skilled Archer and a pink-haired human fencer, the pink-haired girl is _clearly_ a metaphor for how incredibly hot Marche must be!"  
"…"  
"…"  
"…"

"…"  
"Hazel, I was _there_. The Archer and the Fencer were Shara and me."  
"…"  
"…"

"Oh."  
"…"  
"…"  
"But he has to be _hot_!"  
"…"  
"…"  
"…"  
"I'm going to bed."  
"So am I."

---------------------------

"Say, Yenke?"  
"Yessssss?"  
"You up for a game of chess?"

----------------------------

_Scene._


End file.
